©2021 Michael Raven
bound by ørlǫg those things already writ a noose tightening in grip and fit i ache to brush away stone solid fates: such is the way of immature wishings cast to unfavorable tides am i mad? are flames viewed behind cloth-tied eyes just another added torture? if so, stitch my mouth shut to pair it with my blind sight time and time and time who cares for time? there is only now and not now i am filled with want of now but the sisters laugh at want as much as wish at times, I can hear their laughter echoed in the spinning of the nine with each turn fear of night woods alone again
sceadugenga 